


Different Kettle of Grindylow

by tryxchange



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sorting (Harry Potter), Drabble, Gen, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Ron Weasley, Sorting, Sorting Ceremony, The Sorting Hat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5367182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryxchange/pseuds/tryxchange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron Weasley was not looking forward to seven years in the shadow of his formidable brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is a story about Ronald Weasley, who could play a masterful chess game by the time he was eleven years old.

At eleven, he was a serious little boy. A little anxious, maybe. He sat in the car with Harry, after Malfoy had made his appearance, and worried about the sorting. 

Let's be honest, while we watch him worry. Ron could have been an excellent Hufflepuff. He was loyal to a fault. Ravenclaw would have honed skills that he would have been surprised to find that he had, but it would have been good for him. Perhaps he'd have been fast friends with Luna Lovegood. They did grow up very near each other, after all. 

In a way, Gryffindor was possibly the worst thing that could happen to Ron. It encouraged the traits in him that he was the least likely to be proud of himself for cultivating: charging in without thought, clinging to judgments made on the spot without regard for new information. Gryffindor suppressed his ability to strategize, discouraged his loyalty, and set him firmly on the path of being overshadowed by his older brothers forever. A Ron in Gryffindor looked into the Mirror of Erised and saw himself outshining them all. 

If that's not ambition, I don't know what is.

This Ronald Weasley, the young chess master, worried all the way through the encounter with the Muggle girl helping Neville, all the way to the lake, all the way across the lake, and all the way up to the Great Hall. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to fight anything, but the thought of where the Hat would put him still weighed heavily on his eleven-year-old mind.

The annoying Muggle girl got sorted into Gryffindor. Ron watched her walk determinedly down the table past his brothers. George saw him looking and winked. Ron sighed. Of course he would be a Gryffindor. The next seven years would be just like the last eleven. He'd be another Weasley treading the familiar Weasley path. Another head of red hair. Another set of freckles and hand-me-down clothing. Nothing new to see here. Maybe Harry Potter would get sorted to Gryffindor, too. Then at least he'd have a friend who liked him first. 

Neville got sorted into Gryffindor and Ron almost cheered as loudly as the whole Gryffindor table combined, even when Neville had to run back to give it to Morag MacDougal. Neville was a good sort, and Ron hoped that Fred and George would look after him.

Malfoy went into Slytherin, of course, no surprises there. He sat with Crabbe and Goyle, looking smug. Oh well, at least Gryffindor wasn't Slytherin. 

Then it was Harry's turn. Ron stopped worrying over his own sorting to pay closer attention to Harry's. Everyone was paying close attention. After a flurry of whispers ( _...Potter...now?...yes, Potter...well, I heard..._ ) the hall went dead quiet while Harry sat under the Hat. 

After what felt like an eternity, Harry started to take the Hat off. Ron frowned. It hadn't sorted him yet. What was he doing? It looked like he was having some trouble getting it off of his head. Was...was the Hat actually getting smaller? Harry struggled with it, and then the Hat popped off of his head with an audible _*thwuch*_ and yelled out for everyone to hear, “SLYTHERIN!”

Ron was not the only one who gasped. There was no applause from any of the tables. The first year Bulstrode girl actually brought her hands together once, but she was glared into silence by the Slytherins around her at the table. Malfoy was looking even more smug, but it was an ugly look, and he was whispering to his goons in a way that Ron didn't like at all. 

Harry himself was still sitting on the stool, grey under his dark skin, twisting the hat in his hands as though he meant to shred it down to its component threads. He looked like he'd just discovered his own tombstone. 

The silence in the hall stretched out. Then the Headmaster cleared his throat. Harry jumped a little bit and carefully set the hat down on the stool before walking very slowly toward the Slytherin table. He sat down next to Pansy Parkinson, who looked at him as though she was trying to work out what exactly he thought he was doing there. Harry didn't look at her. Harry didn't look at anyone. He stared at the empty plate in front of him, still pinch-faced. Ron wondered if he was going to be ill.

Ron's gaze kept returning to that still form at the Slytherin table while he waited for another Muggle (Dean Thomas, apparently) to get sorted into Gryffindor. Then Lisa Turpin went to Ravenclaw, and it was only him and Zabini left to go under the hat. Ron glanced sideways at Zabini. If the rumors about his mother were true, he would go to Slytherin as well. Poor Potter.

“Weasley, Ronald,” called Professor McGonagall. Ron swallowed and stepped forward. He paused in front of the stool long enough that the old Scottish woman looked down at him.

“Go on then, Weasley,” she said, not unkindly. “ _You've_ nothing to fear.” Ron blinked at her. He thought she probably hadn't intended the emphasis she'd put in that sentence, but it shot through him anyway.

 _You've_ nothing to fear. Harry Potter, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.

 _You've_ nothing to fear. Of all people, Ronald Weasley, your fate is already written. Set in stone. 

One of seven. The least of six. Nothing special to be expected from this one. No surprises here. Red hair, freckles, more children than they can afford.

 _You've_ nothing to fear.

Ron reached out and put the Hat on his head.

_I see,_ said the hat into his mind. _Well, I know where you're not going, that's for sure. Any other preferences you'd like to register?_

Ron startled. He had a choice?

_Well of course you've got a bloody choice. What would be the point, otherwise?_

What? Wasn't the point to put like-minded people together so that they got along?

_Yes, which is exactly why you've got a choice. There's nothing like choice to bring people together._

But Harry--

_...That is an entirely different kettle of grindylow. And also none of your business. Now. You'd probably do all right in any of the Houses, quite well in Ravenclaw I imagine..._

But Ron was already making his choice. He could almost feel the hat smiling.

 _I thought that might be it. Very well. This'll set 'em on their ears!_ “SLYTHERIN!” it shouted to the hall, and for the second time that evening, there were hurried whispers and a deafening lack of applause.

Ron took the hat off his head with steady hands, although his heart was thumping like mad. He looked over at the Gryffindor table. Percy had a thunderous expression on his face. Fred and George had identical flabbergasted looks. Lifting his chin, he looked over at the Slytherin table. 

Malfoy's mouth was hanging open gratifyingly. The Bulstrode girl was clapping again, in a sort of bewildered way, and no one was stopping her. They all looked too stunned.

He looked at Harry. Harry had looked up from his plate and was staring at him with hopeful eyes. Ron smiled at him. They would do this. Harry Potter and the first Slytherin Weasley. Let them ignore him now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will his family think?

They didn’t ignore him, this Slytherin Weasley. No one did, except for Professor Snape, who was busily and aggressively also ignoring Harry, and didn’t seem to care much who else fell into the void along with him.

The rest of the school, however… Everyone had an opinion, and no one was shy about sharing it. People passing him in the halls whispered and pointed. His housemates clearly didn’t know what to think of him and gave him a wide berth. The Gryffindors he wasn’t related to hissed at him, the Ravenclaws watched him when they thought he wasn’t looking, and the Hufflepuffs mostly jumped out of his way. To be fair, the first-year Hufflepuffs mostly jumped out of everyone’s way.

Percy called a family meeting in the headmaster’s office the morning after the sorting and spoke passionately about a clear mis-carriage of protocol and justice and the “order of the universe, Headmaster, surely you can see there’s been some kind of mistake!” That lasted until Ron spoke up, nervously eying his mother’s face, and told them all he’d chosen his house, and there was no mistake.

Fred and George high-fived and held out expectant hands to Percy. Percy’s face went so pinched and white that Ron thought he might pass out. Dad blinked, then blinked again. Ginny, who couldn’t be kept out of anything without hexes these days, gave him a thumbs-up that he was sure she thought was discrete.

And Mum… Mum stared at him with the same face she wore when she was trying to work out how much food to make when the Lovegoods came over. Then something shifted, and she smiled. “Of course you did, Ron. Of course you did. Headmaster Dumbledore, I do apologize for the ruckus, but Ron is right. There has been no mistake. He is exactly where he belongs.”

Dumbledore, who had shown no sign of any emotion beyond polite amusement the whole time, stood and shook hands with everyone. “Excellent, delighted that I could help. Always lovely to see you, Molly. Arthur. Ah, Percy, I wonder if I could have a word with you about your prefect duties.”

Mum and Dad took Ginny home again by floo, and Fred and George bustled Ron down the revolving staircase.

“That was _brilliant_ ,” George said. “Fred, did you see Percy’s face?”

“ _Didn’t_ I though,” Fred replied, in an ecstasy of bliss. “I will carry that to my grave, I will. You’ve given us a gift. You are our favorite little brother.”

“Amazing,” said George. “Why didn’t we think of that, Fred?”

Fred shook his head. “You’ve outclassed us, Ronniekins. Slytherin.”

“You bet on me,” Ron accused.

“Of course we bet on you,” said George. “Perce wouldn’t shut up about how unfair it was. We merely suggested that perhaps it had been your choice. He took offense, we offered a friendly wager, and here we stand, a few sickles richer.”

“Or we _would_ be,” said Fred, frowning, “if he’d paid us. Tackle him in the common room later, do you think, George?”

“Naturally, Fred.”

So his family was taking it well, he thought. Percy still wasn’t speaking to him, but to be honest, Ron wasn’t all that bothered. Percy would get over it.

The whispering in the halls took a bit more getting used to. At first he thought it was just because he was walking around with Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived. But then he noticed that the whispers continued even when he ventured out alone. It was novel, being paid attention to. He rather liked it. He didn’t mind so much that not all the whispers were kind. He had five older brothers who knew exactly how to make him angry. A bunch of eleven-year-olds wasn’t going to put him off his lunch.

Except Malfoy. And that was because Malfoy didn’t care that Ron had been sorted into Slytherin. Malfoy only cared that Ron’s family was poor, and that the Weasleys weren’t part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Every chance he got, Malfoy picked at Ron’s family. “Couldn’t your family afford a wand for you, Weasley? What a shame. _My_ father bought me a moonstone case for mine, would you like to see it? Do be careful, I don’t want it to get smudged.” “Oh, Weasley, look, the Board of Education—my father is on the board, did you know?—has just voted to increase financial aid for Hogwarts students! Perhaps your sister will be able to attend next year after all. You must be pleased.”

The only thing that kept Ron from hexing Malfoy silly was—well, there were three things, if he was honest. His wand really was very shabby, and half the time it shot weak purple sparks rather than performing the proper spell. He also didn’t know any really good hexes. But the one time he’d tried, or started to try, pointing his pathetic stick at Malfoy’s back as the boy passed talking loudly about families who had more children than money, Harry pulled him back.

“Don’t, right mate? It’ll get you in it, not him. Keep your head down.”

Ron examined him. “What, you’re on about the same old ‘ignore him and he’ll go away’ that Mum always spouts? Are you insane?”

Harry shook his head. “He won’t go away. But trust me, not ignoring him is worse.” That was all he said, and he wouldn’t say any more, but Ron put his wand away and the two of them went off to potions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been more interest in this story than I anticipated, which is incredible! Thanks for reading this, fellow SlytheRon fans!


	3. Chapter 3

“No,” said Millicent. “We're coming with you, Potter.” Ron nodded approvingly.

“I'm going after _Snape_ ,” said Harry. “He's trying to bring back _Voldemort_. This isn't like the duel. Getting expelled is the absolute best thing that could happen here. We'll be lucky if we only come out of this _with all our limbs_.”

“Exactly,” said Ron. “You're the world's worst Slytherin, Potter. Charging in like this, that's what Gryffindors do. Fortunately for you, your friends are with you. Bulstrode?”

Millicent grinned. “While you were mincing about, following Snape around, Weasley and I did a little digging. Do you know what's guarding the Stone?”

Harry stared at them.

“No, you don't,” said Ron, “because you're pants at planning. We do, though.”

“What's guarding the Stone, then?” Harry asked.

“Oh no,” said Ron. “We'll tell you on the way. You don't want to waste time, do you?”

Harry glared at him, but grabbed his cloak out of his trunk and threw it over all three of them. They hurried, as best they could, toward the third floor corridor.

“First is Fluffy,” said Millicent, when they got there.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “I got that much. How do we get past him?”

“Got it covered.” 

Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger were waiting for them at the door.

“What are two golden goody-two-shoes Gryffindorks doing here?” asked Millicent, as Harry folded the cloak into his pocket.

“Stuff it, Bulstrode, I invited them,” said Ron, who'd spent a very uncomfortable hour by the lake trying to convince Neville and the swot to join them in Harry's inevitable hurtle toward danger. “They'll be useful.”

“You really shouldn't be here,” said Hermione, loftily. “You'll get expelled.”

Ron rolled his eyes at Neville, who shifted about uncomfortably. Hermione Granger was the only person in his year to befriend him, but he wasn't blind to her faults.

“Come on,” said Harry.

“Oh, keep your knickers on, Potter,” said Millicent. She opened the door in front of them. 

Fluffy was already asleep, a silent harp in the corner. But Neville was the last one in, and the door slipped through his fingers and collided with its frame with a bang.

Fluffy woke immediately and lunged at them.

“Whatever you're going to do,” yelled Harry, ducking under one of the massive sets of jaws, “do it soon!”

“Never tell anyone about this,” said Millicent fiercely, and started singing.

Fluffy would have dozed off to the sounds of someone banging on a triangle with a plastic spoon, but Millicent actually had a very nice voice. Ron thought it sounded like the way his mother's Sunday rolls smelled coming out of the oven. Fluffy flopped down again, huge paws bracketing the trap door.

“Wow, Bulstrode, that's really impressive,” Ron said, pulling the door open. “You've got a very nice voice.”

Harry nodded.

Millicent glared at both of them. “If you ever tell anyone about this, your willies won't be the last thing that you'll miss,” she sang sweetly. “And I'll take your books,” she tacked on, with a pointed stare at Hermione.

Harry and the Granger girl mimed locking their mouths with a key, of all things. Ron and Neville pointed fingers at their own lips and mouthed _collo_. 

“Neville, you go first,” said Ron, giving him a shove.

Neville looked like he might be about to pass out, but he half scrambled, half fell through the trap door, and Ron jumped in after him. Harry and Granger followed, and finally Millicent dropped down behind them. The trap door closed with a bang.

“What now?” asked Harry.

“What are these vines?” said Hermione, a note of panic in her voice.

There was a faint flare of blue light as Neville lit up his wand. “Wow,” he breathed. “This is the biggest, healthiest Devil's Snare I've ever seen! Look, isn't it gorgeous? See how its leaves are all plump? And oh wow, smell that?”

“Yes Longbottom,” said Millicent, “we can both smell your poncy plant and feel it wrapping up our ankles. How do we kill it?”

“Oh no! Don't kill it! It's a really magnificent specimen, and it does so much good! You make a lot of-”

“Neville,” said Ron patiently, “perhaps you could convince it to let us go?”

Neville dropped his wand, but snatched it up again before it could get wrapped in the advancing greenery. “I'm not very good at this spell, but, Lumos Maxima!”

The blue light around his wand grew slightly brighter.

“Sorry,” said Neville. “That's the best it gets for me, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, honestly,” said Granger. “What was that motion? Lumos Maxima!”

Ron didn't like her much, but there was no question that Granger was good to have around in a pinch. The little room flooded with light, and the Devil's Snare shrank back from all of them so suddenly that Neville squeaked and ran to make sure it was all right. 

“Come on, Longbottom, places to go!” Milicent dragged him through the next door.

“This one's yours, Potter,” Ron said, looking at the fluttering keys. “Bulstrode and I will help you, but it's your show.” Flitwick was so diminutive and so kind, it was easy to forget how powerful he was. Leave the big flashy magic to the Gryffs, this was one hell of a charm.

Harry, Ron, and Millicent got on the brooms provided, while Neville and Granger stood back and clutched each other. Ron had seen them during Hooch's class. They no more belonged in the air than a gnome. Harry, however, flew like he was born on a cloud, and Millicent was no slouch on a broom herself. Ron flattered himself that he'd picked up a few tricks from his five older brothers, so between the three of them they caught the proper key in short order.

When all the keys turned and pursued them with humming malevolence, Neville and Granger were there at the next door, flinging it open for the three fliers to tumble through.

They all picked themselves up and had a look around the cavernous space in front of them. 

“Chess?” said Granger. “I can play chess.”

“Wizard's chess,” Millicent said witheringly. “Weasley?”

“This one's mine,” said Ron with some satisfaction, considering the board. He'd had a little time to prepare, of course, but seeing the giant pieces so close gave him pause. “All right. Potter, if we don't get you through, there's no point, so you're going to be the king. Neville, Granger, take the rooks. Bulstrode, queen's knight, please. Granger, do not get yourself captured, the next room is yours.”

“What'll you be?” asked Neville. 

“The queen,” said Ron. “Of course.”

The five of them took their places, and Ron directed his pawn to start the game. 

The other side's pawn moved two spaces, and then there was nothing but Ron's voice and the heavy dragging sound of stone on stone.

“Granger, KB8. I'm not actually sure what's in the next room, but it's Snape's, and you're the best at potions.”

Granger paused, studying the board. “Weasley,” she said, voice trembling.

“Shut up,” said Ron. “KB8, please.”

“But -”

“Go!”

She went, and stood biting her lip hard as Ron turned toward the other queen and waited. 

He thought he was prepared for the pain, but it turned out being hit on the head by a big marble statue hurt quite a bit. He crumpled and succumbed to red black nothing.

He woke up in the hospital wing in the bed next to Harry's. Granger, of all people, had apparently sent an owl after the headmaster just before she and Neville had met them on the third floor. Dumbledore had come rushing back at once. Ron sighed. He supposed he ought to start thinking of her as Hermione. 

“She was pretty good in a pinch,” said Millicent reluctantly. “I expect Professor Snape would be horrified to learn who got past his logic puzzle.” She sat between his bed and Harry's while they waited for Madame Pomfrey to finish fussing. Neville and Hermione stood nervously to one side. Ron noticed that Hermione flushed a splotchy sort of red when Millicent spoke well of her. He suddenly wondered if the Muggleborn girl wasn't perhaps just as eager to prove herself as he was.

Madame Pomfrey bustled off into her office with a stern warning to both Harry and Ron. “See you don't tire yourselves out. And you,” she sniffed at Millicent, Neville, and Hermione. “You're here on my sufferance. Thirty minutes by the clock, no longer!”

They all turned to Harry. “What happened?” asked Neville. “After you went through the fire, I mean. Hermione and I ran into the Headmaster just as we were getting Ron out of Fluffy's room, but we didn't really know what to tell him. And he seemed to know it all already anyway.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at that, but Harry was already speaking. “Me and Millie went through to chase Voldemort.” Everyone winced. “You-Know-Who, fine. Anyway, it was Professor Quirrell, just like you thought, Ron. He had V- You-Know-Who on the back of his head, like some kind of tumor.” 

Ron mouthed the unfamiliar word at Neville, who shook his head. Hermione didn't look confused, though, so it must have been a muggle thing.

“Millie started chucking potions bottles at him.”

“Good thinking, Bulstrode,” said Ron admiringly. Millicent frowned in a pleased sort of way.

“And he looked kind of surprised to see us,” Harry continued. “He nattered on about destiny for a bit, and I think he might have been trying to make friends.” He looked sick at the thought, and Millicent nodded.

“He was definitely coming on all chummy with the Boy Who Lived. It was the weirdest thing. He's frightened of you, Potter.”

Harry ducked his head. “So then when I wouldn't go along, he made me stand in front of the mirror – oh, forgot, the Erised mirror was down there – and look in it. And I did, and my reflection gave me the Stone so that it was in my pocket. Somehow You-Know-Who couldn't get it out, but I did. Fat lot of good that did me, though, because then he grabbed me and tried to get it away, only he burned up when we touched, so I grabbed him and he screamed and I think I passed out a bit.”

Millicent took up the tale. “Potter dropped screaming bloody murder, and Quirrell wasn't doing much better. I figured I'd better do something. So I shoved that great arsing mirror over onto Quirrell, and he just sort of...sank into it. I'm not sure what happened to him, but he's gone, anyhow.”

“Professor Quirrell,” said a new voice, while they were all staring at Millicent, “is trapped, along with his unfortunate guest, in a world made up of his deepest desires, always just a pane of glass away.” Dumbledore smiled sadly at all of them.

“What happened to the mirror?” asked Harry.

“It's safe,” said Dumbledore. “I wouldn't go looking for it again, of course. But it is safe.”

Millicent snorted. “Forget the mirror, where's the stone?”

“Ah,” said the Headmaster. “The stone will be destroyed. Nicholas and Perenelle have agreed that it is far to dangerous a thing to have in a school, or indeed at all. They are setting their affairs in order, and by morning the stone will be no more.”

“Shame,” said Millicent. “Who couldn't use eternal youth and endless wealth?”

Dumbledore looked grave. “Exactly. Now, I advise you all to get some rest, since in spite of the great secrecy of your adventures, everyone is eager to congratulate you on them. You'll need your energy!” He twinkled at them and left as quietly as he'd come.

“He's completely barmy,” Millicent muttered.

Hermione bristled. “He's just eccentric!”

Ron wasn't so sure that was all. “Awfully convenient that he was out of the school when Quirrell went for the stone, wasn't it? And if you really wanted to guard something, you'd do it with unbreakable locks and, I don't know, dragons. Not a series of trials that a few firsties could get past.”

Harry blinked at him. “What are you saying, Ron?” 

“I don't know, but I think the Headmaster _wanted_ us to get the stone. Or at least Harry. Think about it. Why not destroy the stone earlier? I don't think he's crazy, but I don't think he's altogether sane either. And he's up to something.”

“Of course he's up to something,” Hermione sniffed. “He's the Headmaster.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

Once Pomfrey let Ron and Harry leave, the five of them walked down to the Great Hall together. 

“So, um, thanks,” Harry told them all, rubbing the back of his neck. “You guys didn't have to come with me, but I'm glad you did.”

Hermione gave him a giant hug, and looked like she might be about to move on to Ron, but he stepped back before she could.

“Don't even think about touching me, Granger,” Millicent said.

Neville was earnestly shaking Harry's hand. “We wouldn't have been there at all if Ron hadn't asked us. He said he wanted us particularly.”

Millicent scowled. Hermione narrowed her eyes. “How _did_ you find out what all the protections were?”

Ron held out his hands and gave her his best innocent-youngest-brother smile. “Slytherin.”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry wasn’t answering any owls, first off. Ron knew that because he’d sent about a dozen, and then he’d sent one to Bulstrode, and she hadn’t gotten anything from Harry either. 

_No, I haven’t heard from Potter, what, do you think we’re owl friends? And of course I sent him a birthday present, I’m not stupid. Stop sending owls to my house, my mum wants to have your owl put down for soup._

He had one from Granger as well:

_Dear Ronald,_  
_I haven’t heard from Harry, have you? I’ve sent him loads of owls, but he hasn’t replied to even one. Is he mad with me, do you think? I don’t think I’ve done anything. You’re not all mad with me, are you? I thought we worked together quite well at the end of the year, even though we broke nearly all the school rules. I haven’t told my parents about that, by the way, so don’t mention it in your owl. They don’t read my owls usually, but you can’t be too careful, you know. Anyway, please write back and let me know whether you’ve heard from Harry. Also, when are you going to Diagon Alley to get your books? Maybe we can meet up there._  
_Your Friend,_  
_Hermione Granger_

“Harry’s not answering my owls,” Ron told his mum. She was sitting at the kitchen table and frowning over her ledger scrolls.

She got the pained look on her face that appeared whenever any of them was having a hard time. “Ron, dear, sometimes you can be a little…” She trailed off, erased an entry with a wave of her wand, scribbled in something new. “You can’t push too much with people, Ron. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, no amount of owling is going to make him.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “No, mum, it’s not like that. It’s suspicious.” 

“Not everything is suspicious, Ron. Not everything is a plot.” She squinted at the scroll.

“Yeah, little brother, sometimes people just don’t like you.” Fred ruffled Ron’s hair on his way to the jar of oatmeal biscuits.

“Funny, that, and you such a charmer,” George said, poking Ron in the side.

“Harry likes me just fine,” Ron said, shoving his brother off. “There’s something wrong.”

Their mother shooed them all out of the kitchen. “Off with you! Outside, if you’re going to be quarrelling. Out!”

“Maybe he decided he’d rather be friends with Malfoy,” George suggested on their way out the door. "Now there's a snake."

“How _you_ got sorted into Slytherin…” Fred lamented. 

“I make a great Slytherin,” Ron grumbled, safe in the knowledge that they wouldn’t take him seriously. “Harry’s in trouble, I’m sure of it. He hasn’t written. I haven’t seen Hedwig all summer. And he’s not being all chummy with Malfoy. They hate each other. I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t like it.” 

Fred looked at George. George looked at Fred. 

Fred shrugged. “We were going to anyway.” 

George nodded. “Might as well…” 

“…take a detour?” Fred agreed. “Ronniekins, we are your favorite brothers.” 

“What?” Ron asked. “No, not-” 

“Say it,” said George. “Say it, or we won’t take you with us, and you will be sad, and Mum will blame us, and Dad will give us a Talking To, and we’ll die of boredom, and you’ll be down your two favorite brothers.” 

“Take me with you-” Ron started, but then he figured it out. “Ugh, fine. You’re my favorite brothers.” 

“And your heroes in all things,” prompted Fred. 

“And my heroes in all things,” Ron repeated. “And you’re bloody geniuses, all right? How are we getting to Harry? We can’t Apparate.” 

The twins looked at each other again, and grinned. 

Ron shivered. That was the kind of grin that usually got him in trouble. 

“We’re taking Dad’s car,” said Fred. 

“Can you drive it?” Ron asked. 

“It’s going to be _wicked_ ,” breathed George. 


	5. Chapter 5

The Burrow was quiet as Ron crept down the stairs. He moved as slowly and randomly as he could – all the stairs creaked no matter what he did, so the best he could do was blend in with the sighing of the rest of the house. He paused on the landing outside his parents’ room, but all within was silent.

Fred and George were waiting at the base of the stairs, grinning up at him. They were wearing all black, with hazy black veils wrapped around their faces.

“Sneaking,” George whispered at Ron’s raised eyebrow. “We’re being sneaky.”

Ron, who was wearing ratty blue pyjamas with gold quills on them (they’d belonged to Percy), said nothing. He followed the twins outside to the shed where the car was parked.

“Ready to go for a ride, Ronniekins?” Fred asked, twirling their father’s keyes around one finger. “Now to unlock the engine!” He jumped into the driver’s seat and stuck the key in the slot next to the steering column. 

“Wait,” Ron hissed. He glanced around and muttered a _quietus_ at the car. “Don’t want the noise waking anyone, do you?” he asked.

“Right you are,” said George, looking surprised. “They teaching Firsties useful charms now?”

“I got it off of Zabini,” Ron explained. “You would not believe how loud Goyle is at night. Snores like a dragon. I can’t make it stay for very long, though, and we won’t be able to cast it again once we’re away from home, so we’d better hurry.”

“Where does Potter live?” Fred asked, clambering into the front passenger side of the car as Ron slid into the back.

“No idea,” Ron said promptly.

George gaped at him and Fred rolled his eyes, looking mournful. “This was going to be such a noble voyage – rescuing Ronniekins’ fair maiden from the tower -”

“- or finding out said maiden wants nothing to do with our Ron -”

“- in which case beatings would have occurred. But alas, instead we find ourselves without direction, in an enchanted Ford Anglia idling silently on the unforgiving ground while our parents slumber mere meters away. Why have you got Errol, Ron?”

Ron smoothed the old owl’s feathers down as far as they would go. Errol responded by dropping a few out the window of the car and giving Ron a saggy, unhappy look. “He knows where Harry lives,” Ron said patiently. “I’ve sent him loads of letters, and they’re not coming back, so they’re getting delivered. He’s not getting lost. Plus, he flies slow enough for you to keep up.”

“Oi!” Fred cried, outraged. “We’ll see who’s keeping up!”

***

Ron ended up holding Errol in his lap and shouting out directions to Fred as the ancient bird twitched. They found themselves at their destination very quickly – Ron privately suspected Fred of giving the car a boost with his wand. They sank down from the clouds over a bogglingly _square_ village. All the streets were straight, and all the houses the same shape.

“Ugh, no wonder they’re muggles,” Fred said, peering over the side of the car at the orderly rows of street-lights. “How did Potter survive?”

Ron wrinkled his nose in agreement. Magic needed natural paths to flow along and get caught up in. Any magic here would quickly sputter out on the long, straight lines. He checked Errol’s twitching head again, and pointed at a house that somehow managed to be even more like all the rest of the houses than its neighbors. “That’s the one.”

Fred dropped the car in alarming jolts, but somehow got it down to the level of the second floor of the house. “Which one is his room?” he asked.

“Er,” said George. “I think it might be the one with the bars on the window. Looks like you were right, Ron. Blimey, Fred, tell me I don’t have to feel sorry for a Slytherin.”

Ron opened his mouth.

“You don’t count, Ron, you’re family,” Fred said without turning around. “There he is, in the window! Ron, get up here.”

Ron climbed over the seat, and then over the dashboard to get to the hood of the car, as close to Harry as he could get. For a moment he was so happy to see him that he couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.

“Hi, Harry,” he said, grinning fit to split his face. “Wanna get out of there?”

“Ron, what are you _doing_ here? Is that a _flying car?_ ”

“You weren’t answering your letters, mate. I got worried. Can you get out this way?”

Harry shook his head, gesturing at the bars.

“Hang on, then,” Ron said. He climbed back to the boot and rummaged around until he found a long rope coiled up. “This should work a trick, yeah?” He looped it through the front doors and tied it off around two of the bars in Harry’s window.

“Oh, horns of Tiamat, this is the best night ever,” George whispered.

“Go on Fred, give her a go,” Ron called back to his brother.

Fred grinned hugely, threw the car into reverse, and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. There was an enormous grinding sound, and then the bars were pulled away from the window and dragging the front end of the car down with them. George hastily pulled out his knife and cut the rope, freeing the car.

“That’s torn it,” Harry said, looking over his shoulder. “Hang on, here’s Hedwig, I’ve got to get my things.” He shoved Hedwig’s cage into Ron’s hands and disappeared. For long, anxious moments Ron waited, listening hard for any sound of Harry’s family waking up and coming to investigate, and then Harry returned, dragging his trunk behind him.

“Got it,” said George, hopping out of the car and into Harry’s room to help heave the trunk aboard.

For an instant, Ron thought they were going to pull it off cleanly. Then his Quietus wore off. The Anglia chose that moment to backfire loudly into the quiet of the night. The noise echoed down the bland street. Seconds later, it was followed by a roar of confusion and anger from Harry’s uncle, waking and rushing down the hallway to his nephew’s room.

“Get me in, get me in, get me in!” Harry chanted, scrambling up on the hood of the car alongside Ron. Fred swung them around and took off up into the clouds just as Mr. Dursley’s head and shoulders emerged from Harry’s window. He shook his fist at the sky, too enraged to speak.

Ron helped Harry into the back seat of the car. They collapsed against each other, giggling.

“We are pleased to be your chauffeurs this evening, Mister Weasley, Mister Potter,” said Fred from the front. “I think I’ve got the hang of this now, it should be a much smoother ride back.”

It really wasn’t, but Ron was too relieved to care.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. So who likes dialog? Because this is a lot of dialog. Who am I kidding, it's entirely dialog. So much talking.

After Mum finished yelling, Ron took Harry up to his room to help him unpack. Harry pulled everything out of his trunk and laid it on the bed next to Ron’s without saying anything. Ron thought he looked a bit sick.

“All right?” he asked. “Mind, the way Fred drove, I’m not surprised you’re wobbly.”

Harry frowned. “I wasn’t starving,” he blurted.

“Sorry?” Ron cocked his head, but then he remembered his protest to his mother. “What would you call it, when they weren’t giving you more than a piece of toast a day?”

Harry waved him off. “No, I know they weren’t very nice about that, but I think it’s only because they know I…” He trailed off, looking a little ashamed.

“You what, then?” Ron demanded. “What could be so bad they’d be right not to _feed_ you, mate?”

“I snitch food from the cellar, sometimes,” Harry said in a rush, not looking at Ron. He quickly amended: “Usually. I would never, here, though! Promise!”

Ron snorted. “Won’t get a chance. Didn’t you see how Mum looked at you? You won’t hardly get to sleep, you’ll be so busy eating. We’ll have to roll you onto the train.”

Harry smiled a little tentatively and went back to organizing his things.

Ron picked up a potions jar full of – “Is this _dill pickles_?”

Harry glanced at it. “Yeah. That’s one of the things I take from the cellar. There’s loads of them, so Aunt Petunia never misses them.”

“You lot – sorry – Muggles store _food_ in these? Mum would have my head if she caught me mixing my potions kit with her kitchen stuff.”

“Not usually,” said Harry. He looked thoughtful. “Actually, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a jar like that in the pantry. Just in the basement. Usually it’s pickles, but sometimes it’s other things, like tinned plums. They’re really good, and I always get to eat them all, because Flamel doesn’t like fruit much.”

Ron boggled. “Flamel? Like Nicholas Flamel? The bloke we spent all year going mad over?”

The stairs outside creaked a bit, and there was a gentle knock on the door. Mum poked her head in. “Don’t forget to go to sleep, lads,” she said, looking both fond and miffed. “You’re not getting out of helping with breakfast just because you went haring off in your father’s illegal car!”

“Yes, Mum,” Ron said. Harry bobbed his head.

They waited until she was gone before resuming their conversation in lower tones. “No, I named her after Flamel. Didn’t I tell you about her? Maybe not. She was tiny last year, and we were going mad over the Stone and all. Flamel lives in the cellar, and I go visit her sometimes. She’s still pretty small, but she’s grown a lot since last year! She says she thinks she’ll be quite big someday. I told Millie about her, I’m sure!”

“Bulstrode doesn’t tell people things, Harry. She likes knowing things, but she never shares them about. Can’t think how she stands being in a dorm with Parkinson.”

Harry made a face.

“Flamel, is she a house-elf? I didn’t think Muggles had those. We don’t even have one,” Ron admitted, with envy that he valiantly tried to squash. The Potters were one of the old families, and everyone knew they had money. It didn’t seem like Harry saw much of it when he was at home, though. 

“No, she’s a snake, but I’m glad you brought up house-elves!” Harry was excited now, the same way he’d been whenever they’d researched the Stone last year. He didn’t even seem to notice the way Ron was staring at him. “There was one in our house, but it wasn’t ours. He said he belonged to someone else, went on about having to shut his ears in the oven. For sneaking out, I think. He got me in trouble with the Dursleys! Floated a pudding over the guests and made them leave before Uncle Vernon got his drill deal! And then the reprimand came for using magic out of school, and then they knew I wasn’t meant to, and so that’s when they locked me up.”

Ron had no idea what a drill deal was, or why you had to get them from guests, but it was clear that a house-elf had been up to brownie mischief. “That’s really not like them at all,” he said, frowning and setting aside the issue of the talking snake in Harry’s basement.

“Yes,” said Harry, nodding, “he seemed very unhappy to have to do it. But he said he had to, to keep me from coming back to school this year.”

Ron’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t he want you back at school?”

“I don’t know! He said it wasn’t safe!”

Ron choked back a laugh. “Well, you have to admit, he wasn’t wrong. Whose was he?”

Harry shook his head. “No idea. He wouldn’t say. He didn’t say much, actually, for how much he talked.”

“Huh,” said Ron. “I wonder if he’s yours, after all?” At Harry’s puzzled look, he went on. “The Potter Family. They’ve been around centuries, you know, and I think the only reason they weren’t one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight was because your great granddad wasn’t too keen on You-Know-Who the first time around. Well, and then your dad went and married your mum. Not that his parents cared a whit, but it was supposed to have been a bit of a scandal.”

“Because she had white skin, or because she was a Muggleborn?” Harry asked.

It was Ron’s turn for puzzlement. “Because she was a Muggleborn, of course. What does her skin color have to do with it?”

An angry expression flitted across Harry’s face, then he looked away. “Nothing, never mind. What about house-elves?”

“Your aunt and uncle don’t have house-elves, but something must have happened to the Potter family’s elves. I can’t imagine they _didn’t_ have any – most of the pure-blood families do. We don’t, but we really, erm, can’t.”

“Why not?”

Ron flushed. “It’s complicated. I wish we could, it would make a lot of things easier, but, oh, lots of reasons. They require pretty specific care, for one thing, and Mum says it’s enough a challenge to feed the nine of us without adding in food and Healer’s fees for house-elves.”

Harry nodded. “That’s what Aunt Petunia said when Dudley asked for a puppy, that they’re too expensive. I’m glad Flamel mostly takes care of herself. I wonder if I could find a vet for her, though. Are there reptile doctors in the wizarding world?”

Ah, yes, the talking snake. “Harry, did you say she spoke to you?”

“Yeah, all the time. I go down there when I’m feeling a bit sad, or lonely. I was down there a lot this summer, because Dobby was keeping my letters.” He scowled down at his mostly repacked trunk. “I know you lot wrote me, but I’ve no idea what you said. Anyway, Flamel always cheers me up again. She’s grand. Maybe next year I’ll bring her along – d’you think they’d let me? As I have Hedwig already, and all.”

Ron considered this. “You may not want to go mentioning that around school, though. That you’ve got a pet snake that talks to you.”

“Oh, she’s not my pet,” Harry said cheerfully, but then Ron’s careful tone sifted through. “Why not? Don’t wizards like snakes?”

“Some do,” said Ron, “but Harry, no one can talk to them. The only person I’ve ever heard of being able to talk to snakes was You-Know-Who, and that’s not a great thing to remind people of, is it? Well, and Salazar Slytherin, I suppose, but who knows what he got up to really. The way they talk about the Founders at school, I wouldn’t doubt if they were all so much Quibbler pulp.”

Harry cocked his head in the way he had when something was foreign to him. “Quibbler pulp? Never mind. I’ll keep mum about Flamel. I wish you could meet her, though. It’s not like she’s speaking some other language. You’d be able to understand her just fine.”

“Hmm,” said Ron noncommittally. “As it’s nearly gone four, what do you say we turn in? Maybe we’ll get our book lists tomorrow. We’re meant to go to Diagon later this week, and I think Granger wants to meet up.”

“Grand,” said Harry, tugging his trunk off the spare bed and tossing himself into it with a great sigh. “Hey, Ron, mate. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Ron coughed a bit. “Yeah, well, would have been a right awful year without you, wouldn’t it? Reckon I’d have ended up in Azkaban for hexing Malfoy.”


	7. Chapter 7

Percy woke them in the morning, rapping sharply on the door until Ron stirred enough to shout at him to go away. The light coming in was the damp, grey sort that made Ron hope they could stay inside with a hot pot of tea and some of Mum’s ginger biscuits. As soon as he and Harry went downstairs, however, he was quickly disabused of that notion.

“Ron, Harry, have some breakfast. Go on, Harry, that’s never all you’re taking? Here.” Mum loaded Harry’s plate with another two slices of toast and pushed a few eggs on for good measure. Harry looked sideways at Ron. 

“Big as a balloon, mate,” Ron predicted, smirking.

“Ron, once you’re all finished, you’ll go out into the garden with Fred and George to de-gnome. Harry-”

“I’ll help,” Harry put in, a bit anxiously, Ron thought.

Mum looked surprised, but pleased. “All right, then. Ron can show you how.”

Ginny came downstairs while Harry was eating his third scone. She took one look at him, squeaked, and vanished back up the stairs.

“Wha’d I do?” Harry asked thickly through a mouthful of crumbs.

Ron stared after his sister. “Nothing. Only she’s got a bit of a crush, I think. Sorry.”

Harry looked gobsmacked. “Not on _me?_ She likes me? _Likes_ me, likes me?” he whispered at Ron. Ron stole a glance at his mother. Mum’s lips were pursed in disapproval, but they were also twitching suspiciously. “She’s never even _met_ me,” Harry finished, sounding appalled.

Ron shrugged. “Who can fathom the minds of girls?”

“Dare you to say that to Millie, then,” Harry snorted. “Or Hermione, either. I bet she’d whack you over the head with that great book she likes so much.”

“As if I wouldn’t see her coming days away,” Ron sniffed. 

“I notice you’re not saying anything about Millie,” Harry pointed out.

“She’s a Slytherin,” said Ron loftily. He stood, taking his own dishes and Harry’s to the sink. 

“Wash them!” Mum warned without turning around from the great batch of buns she was mixing up. 

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered a _scourgify_ at the plates. “Oh, it’s all right here,” he told a wide-eyed Harry. “They don’t pay attention to who does the magic, only if there are muggles about.”

Harry blinked and followed him outside. “Yeah, if they knew who’d done it, they wouldn’t have sent me a warning, would they?” He frowned. “Gives you a bit of an advantage at school, though, doesn’t it? I mean, over Hermione and me, as we live with muggles and all.”

“Huh,” said Ron. “Yeah, I reckon it does. I wonder why no one’s thought of that before?”

“Thought of what?” George said. He and Fred were standing in the garden by the frog pond. Fred held a gnome by its ankles.

“Eugh, what is that?” Harry asked.

“How muggle-borns can’t do magic at home over breaks, but we can,” Ron told his brother. “That’s a gnome,” he told Harry.

“No,” Harry said, “that’s a potato with arms. Gnomes are jolly and fat!”

“Gnomes are cranky and they live in the dirt. And on it. Soak up the nutrients or something, says Mum,” George explained. “They love it here, so there’s always a load of them to get rid of. Oh, good throw, Fred!”

“Thanks,” said Fred, who’d just finished tossing his gnome over the garden wall. 

“Doesn’t it hurt them?” Harry asked.

Ron ducked into a large peony and grabbed another gnome by the scruff of the neck. “Nope,” he said, pulling it out. “Just makes them dizzy so they can’t find their way back. You’ve got to give them a good swing first.” He demonstrated.

Fred and George cheered. The gnome made a face at them and trudged away.

“He doesn’t look dizzy,” Harry said. “He just looks a bit resigned.”

George shrugged and pulled up another gnome. “I wouldn’t be so sure that your muggle-born magic issue is an oversight, by the way.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. He was tentatively poking into the reeds around the pond. Ron could see three gnomes staring at him just beyond his fingers.

“Heard Dad talking the other day,” Fred grunted, yanking at the ground. “He mentioned that there’s one bloke who’s been pestering the Ministry about muggle-borns for ages. His son’ll be in your year, Malfoy?”

“Ugh,” said Harry, holding a gnome up by the ankle.

“That’s the way, Harry,” George said encouragingly. “Get a better grip! Now twirl it about your head and let it fly!”

Harry’s first few efforts weren’t much to speak of, but after he’d been bitten by a few of the little buggers he quickly got more aggressive.

“Anyway,” Fred went on, “Pater Malfoy was one of You-Know-Who’s supporters back in the day. Dad reckons he’s still going on about the same things. Keep magic pure, and all that rot. Bet he’s not the only one who still thinks that way.”

“It would be convenient for that lot if the muggle-borns weren’t as good at magic for want of practice,” George pointed out.

“But that’s not fair,” Harry blurted. His hands were covered with dirt and gnome bites, and he still managed to look righteously outraged.

Ron sighed. “How did you get sorted to Slytherin, mate? You are the bloody image of a Gryffindor, you are.”

Harry, oddly, flushed, and was very quiet for the rest of the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

It was odd watching Harry at the Burrow. Ron was almost used to him as a fellow student, and both of them were out of place in the dungeons. Snape’s practice of ignoring them completely hadn’t rubbed off on the Slytherins. Neither Harry nor Ron could go anywhere without being stared at. But here at home…

Ron saw anew how unused to the wizarding world his friend was. Harry was enthralled by the simplest things, like the way the ghoul banged about in the attic, or the careless flick Mum gave in the morning that sent the wrinkles chasing each other out of their clothes. The second morning after the dramatic car rescue, he caught Harry in the garden, actually soaking his socks in a bucket full of soapy water.

_The berry bucket,_ he noted with absent-minded horror. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Harry snatched his hands out of the bucket and looked shifty. “Washing my socks. Yours are in here too,” he added hastily, wildly misinterpreting the look on Ron’s face. “We got so dirty yesterday collecting tadpoles for your mum. And I’ve run out of clean ones…” he trailed off as Ron continued to stare at him. “I didn’t – I just wanted clean socks.”

There was such a plaintive tone in his voice that Ron shook himself and made a note to find out as much as he could about muggle life as soon as possible. _Dad will be unbearable._ “Didn’t you see the washing cabinet by my bed? With the whirly bits carved in?” Each of their rooms had one. Ron had a vague notion that perhaps Bill had made some of them in seventh year Charms. “You put your laundry in when it’s dirty, and it comes out clean.”

“Like a washing machine?” Harry asked. “Is that how Hogwarts does it?”

“If a washing machine cleans your clothes for you, yeah. I don’t know what the elves do at Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts has elves, too?”

It was sort of fun, seeing Harry be astonished by little things. Ron grinned. “Yeah, loads. They make the food, and they make sure our clothes are clean and the dorms are tidy. Come on, I’ll show you how to use the washing cabinet.”

“How come I’ve never seen them? The elves.” Harry asked, trailing along after Ron with the now-ruined berry bucket.

Ron shrugged. “They like to pretend they don’t exist, most of the time. They stay to their part of the castle, and they’re very quiet.”

They were on the stairs, so it took him a minute to figure out that Harry wasn’t following him anymore. He looked back. His friend had stopped half-way up the steps, one hand on the railing. He looked angry again. 

“But they do all the work for everyone?” Harry said, so low Ron had a hard time hearing him.

“Yeah,” Ron said slowly. “They like working. And they’re good at it. What’s wrong?” For Harry’s expression was getting tighter and tighter by the second.

“Convenient,” Harry snapped. “A whole group of magical elves that just _likes working_ and they’re _so good at it._ No one else ever needs to bother! And there’s no need to go acknowledging them, is there, because they’re just naturally quiet. Loners, aren’t they. A bit queer, if you want to know, a bit strange. I imagine wizards don’t associate with them, really, only they’re allowed to work as much as they like. Do wizards even feed them?”

Suddenly, Ron understood exactly what Harry was hearing. “Oh, no, of course they get food! Elves don’t eat what we eat, not really. I forget what their diet is, but it’s something to do with magic and intent. Nobody forces them to stay! They’re free to go anywhere they like. It’s not like –” he cut himself off, thinking it might not be tactful to finish comparing Harry Potter to a house elf.

Harry Potter had no such reservations. “It’s not like me, you mean? What about Dobby, then? If he can leave any time he wants, why was he talking about shutting his ears in the oven and ironing his fingers?”

Ron squirmed. “I don’t know, Harry. I don’t actually know that much about them, just that Hogwarts has them. Let’s see if Fred and George will tell us how to get into the kitchens, and we can talk to the ones who work at Hogwarts, at least.” 

The year Fred and George had gone to Hogwarts for the first time, Bill and Charlie had talked a lot about trying to attract a house elf to the Burrow. Ron thought that Charlie had asked at the school, but none of the elves were willing to leave the magic-soaked halls for a ramshackle cottage only a few centuries old. Bill and Charlie had both been disappointed. Ron recalled that they’d also started being a lot more keen on helping Mum with chores. He tried to imagine Harry’s life, washing socks in buckets and living in a quiet, square house. Doing chores. Not getting any food from his aunt and uncle. No magic at all. 

“Harry,” he asked while they loaded clothing into the washing cabinet, “how did your accidental magic go off?” He looked around his room and decided he may as well pick up his clothes and toss them in too.

“I grew my hair back overnight,” Harry offered, apparently more cheerful with a plan to talk to the house elves at school. “And I made a jumper shrink so I couldn’t wear it. And I flew to the top of a roof. Oh, and the bit at the zoo. I made some glass disappear and reappear, and I talked to a snake. That was how I knew I could talk to Flamel! Before that, I just thought it was neat to have a snake around.”

“That was just before first year, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “What about you? What did you do?”

Ron snickered. “Mum and Dad took us all swimming at the beach, as a special treat. I didn’t want to swim, so I dried up all the water.”

“ _All_ the water?”

“Just the bit around me. Charlie thought it was hilarious. Mum and Dad were awfully pleased, even though they had to act mad. It was a muggle beach. Mum said Dad had to call some friends at the ministry to come fix it.”

“ROOOOOOON!” 

Harry started at the bellow coming from the direction of the stairs. “Who’s that?”

Ron sighed. “That’s Ginny. WHAT!”

“MOM SAYS COME DOWNSTAIRS BECAUSE SCHOOL LETTERS CAME RON MY LETTER CAME I’M GOING TO HOGWARTS!”

“OF COURSE YOU’RE GOING TO HOGWARTS, YOU’RE ELEVEN!” he shouted back. “HARRY’S UP HERE TOO, DID HIS LETTER COME?”

There was a thud, followed by a clatter, followed by a sudden silence. Ron rolled his eyes. “Come on, Harry, I’ll bet you anything your letter’s here too.”


	9. Chapter 9

Harry wasn’t in Diagon Alley.

The rest of them had popped safely out of the fireplace at Scribbulus, brushing off their robes and carefully avoiding the disapproving gaze of proprietor Etymone Scrow. Ron noticed immediately that Harry wasn’t with them, but thought at first that he was waiting for them outside. Then they got outside and there was still no Harry.

Ron crept closer to his father. “Dad,” he murmured, trying not to let Mum overhear. “Dad, where’s Harry?”

Dad had clearly already noticed, because he was also studiously trying to steer away from Mum. “I don’t know. He should have been right in the shop.”

Fred overheard them, and because he was Fred, shouted out, “Mum, we’ve only gone and lost Harry Potter!”

After that, it was a bit chaotic. Ginny started crying, Percy began haranguing the twins, Dad tried to be unflappable but was nevertheless clearly _flapped_ , and Mum – Well, Mum was actually quite calm about it. Ron could tell she was alarmed by the way her eyes were wider than usual, but she gathered them all together and brusquely took them all to task. 

“Percy, be a dear and see to your sister, thank you. Fred, you’ll want to be a little quieter now that we’re out and about, won’t you? Thank you, George, sit on him if he seems likely to burst out again. Ron, we’ll find him in no time, don’t worry. Oh look, dear, there’s a muggle couple over there with their daughter. Ron, she looks about your year, is she?”

Ron looked. “Oh, yeah, that’s Hermione Granger, I told you she wanted to meet up today. Mum, Harry–” 

Mum waved him off, with a warning nod towards Dad. “Harry will be fine. Arthur, look at those poor muggles – go and ask them to join us. Ron knows their daughter; she’s one of his little friends.”

Ron thought of Granger’s likely response to being called “one of his little friends” and nearly snickered. He was too concerned to be amused for long, though, and as soon as Granger got close enough with her parents, he pulled her to one side.

“Harry’s gone missing,” he whispered.

“What?” she asked vaguely, watching Ron’s dad ask her parents question after question.

“Harry!” Ron insisted. “He’s meant to be with us, but he went missing in the floo.”

Granger snapped out of it. “Oh no! How did that happen? I’ve never used a floo before, has he?”

“ _The_ floo,” Ron corrected, “and no. You’ve got to be very clear about where you’re going, but I think he got some powder in his throat, and I couldn’t tell _what_ he said. It wasn’t Diagon Alley, though.”

“There’s Hagrid,” Ron’s mum said with relief. “We can ask him to keep an eye out.”

They didn’t have to, as it turned out. The oversized groundskeeper waded through the press of people with a forbidding expression on his face. Once he got close enough, they could see Harry being almost dragged along behind him. Upon reaching the Weasleys, Hagrid steadied Harry and brushed him off a little. 

“Found him down Knockturn, Molly. Go on, Harry, you’ll be fine with Ron and them. Don’t go wandering off down dark alleys, mind!” He seemed eager to be off, and once he was assured that Mum had Harry well in hand, he stomped back up the street toward the Leaky Cauldron.

“Oh, Harry,” Mum said, fussing over him. “Not Knockturn.”

“Was it wicked?” Fred asked eagerly.

“Did you see any hags?” George put in.

“Erm,” said Harry, “I guess so. Hullo, Hermione. Are those your parents?”

Granger could be very tactful, for a Gryffindor. “Yes, that’s them. Mum, Dad, come meet Harry! He’s in my year at school. He and Ron are in a different house. They’re clever, but they pretend they’re not. These are my parents, Doctor Granger and Doctor Granger.”

“Call me Doctor Wendy,” said Granger’s mother, looking relieved to escape from Dad’s questions.

“And I’ll be Doctor Monty, then,” the other Doctor Granger put in, reaching out a hand to Harry, then Ron. Ron shook, glad that Harry had taught him how. He rolled the names around in his mind. It was strange to be invited to call adults by their first names, even if they were prefaced by a title.

“What are you doctors of?” Harry asked, neatly avoiding calling them anything at all by addressing both at once. Occasionally he did live up to his house.

“We’re dentists,” Doctor Wendy said. “That’s teeth doctors,” she added to Ron, who was mouthing the word _dentists._

Doctor Monty spotted Ron’s dad approaching again and took his wife’s arm. “Hermione, you’ve got your pocket money? And your bus ticket? Good, we’ll see you at home, then. Lovely to meet you, Molly, Arthur, I’m afraid we must run! Cheerio!”

“Cheerio?” Ron muttered to Granger.

She flushed. “Shut it. Dad gets flustered. Do you have to go to Gringotts, too? I’ve got pounds I want to change.”

Ron nodded. “Now we’re all here, at least.”

“Oh, pipe down,” Harry said irritably. “I’ve never traveled by fireplace before. I’d like to see you do as well in the Tube.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr user [darlinghogwarts](http://darlinghogwarts.tumblr.com/) had a [post](http://darlinghogwarts.tumblr.com/post/102121880930/the-sorting-hat-didnt-listen-to-harry-and-yelled) that inspired this. 
> 
> Other works inspired by that post here on AO3 from [dedicatedfollower467](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dedicatedfollower467?): [Not Slytherin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3067649), and [SarahAimee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahAimee/pseuds/SarahAimee): [The unexpected turn of events](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4375001)


End file.
